


Initiation

by Misanagi



Series: The Tame Way [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Alternate Universe, Bad Parent John Winchester, Caring John Winchester, Child Abuse, Corporal Punishment, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Slave Dean Winchester, Slavery, Teen Dean Winchester, in his own way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:14:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24793723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misanagi/pseuds/Misanagi
Summary: The brand on Dean’s back is magical and will fester and slowly kill him unless it heals, and it won’t heal until Dean embraces his servitude. John is going to get his son through this and if that means breaking the boy, then so be it.
Series: The Tame Way [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1786033
Comments: 8
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You should read [Enthralled](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24704689) first or this won’t make any sense. 
> 
> This fic and series draws inspiration from [The Silver Collar series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1139369) by [Edge_of_Clairvoyance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edge_of_Clairvoyance/pseuds/Edge_of_Clairvoyance). It’s an amazing read, go check it out :)
> 
> Unbetaed. All mistakes are mine.

The sad thing is that overall, they way he has to treat Dean now, isn’t that much different from how he has been treating him. That probably says something about John’s parenting but the fact that he just needs to go back to being Drill Sargent during the first week of bootcamp instead of a Commanding Officer to his own son is somehow reassuring. 

He lets the boy sleep all day and most of the night but at five am he turns on the lights on the motel room and says firmly and loudly, “Dean, get up!”

The boy is out of bed and standing before his eyes even open and John gives him just a few seconds for his brain to wake up before hi snaps, “Stand up straight, Dean, eyes up front.”

It seems to wake up his son enough to stand at attention, still blinking rapidly and probably suppressing a yawn. 

“There’re some harsh realities we need to face, Dean, and we better do that now.” John crosses his arms and stands directly in front of his son. “Thanks to your stupid behavior you’ve gotten yourself in a mess I can’t get you out of and now we’ll all have to live with the consequences.”

Dean opens his mouth to protest or explain himself, maybe, but seems to think better of it and doesn’t argue with what John’s saying. “Here’s how things will be from now on,” John continues. “We’re staying in the area for a few days for you to understand your new station in life. We’ll set up the rules and make sure you understand your position before we go back to get your brother. Think of it as hell week. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

The book made one thing abundantly clear. The sooner the new thrall experiences and understands their servitude the faster the healing will be. The brand on Dean’s back is magical and will fester and slowly kill him unless it heals, and it won’t heal until Dean embraces his servitude. John is going to get his son through this and if that means breaking the boy, then so be it. 

“Look at me, Dean.”

The green eyes are apprehensive, even scared, but there’s a sharp line of inner strength that refuses to be coiled. “You’re a thrall, not a slave,” John explains, allowing some uncharacteristic gentleness to color his words. “Your mind is your own and you still have choices. Limited ones, even terrible ones, but they’re still your choices to make. Remember that.”

Dean swallows, nods once and breaks eye contact. _Good,_ John thinks. His boy’s tough. He understands he’s fucked but he’s willing to work with it. 

“As a thrall you have nothing.” Whatever warmth there was before is completely gone from John’s tone now. “You’re allowed nothing unless a hunter bound to the god allows it. No food, no rest, no rights whatsoever. As a hunter pledged to Ninurta I’ll give you your first set of rules to start you of.”

Every hunter who has pledged themselves to the god and their underage offspring have the same hold on the thralls. John searched the book for a way to make his claim stronger, be Dean’s primary master but there was none. Dean is a thrall to all hunters equally but if John gives him a set of rules to keep as a base, a guideline, they might be enough to counteract any other rules given by unscrupulous people or at least serve as a loophole.

“You eat what you want, when you want. You wear what you want, when you want. You go to the bathroom and take care of your grooming and biological needs however you want. Your body is your own. Sexual and romantic encounters are to be decided by you alone, if your partner consents.” John hasn’t forgotten what Lawson implied when they were waiting for dawn to break to go get Dean after the ritual. He needs to make this perfectly clear. “You get to say no and you get to kick the bastard’s ass if they presume otherwise. Do you understand, son?”

“Ye— Yes, Sir.”

“You are to treat Sam like you’ve always done. You’re his brother, not a thrall to him. The rule you were allowed to impose should work perfectly with this. To Sam things haven’t and will not change.”

The sigh of relief Dean lets out almost breaks John’s heart. 

“You start each morning with training,” John carries on as if he hasn’t heard. “You make sure weapons are clean, functional and ready, you cook, you clean and if there’s a dirty job to be done you do it. You’re the low man in the totem poll. The lowest.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Now make that bed, get some workout clothes on and meet me outside.”

John sends Dean on a four mile run as soon as he steps out and when the boy gets back he orders sets of one hundred crunches, sit ups, jumping jacks and knuckle push ups. It’s a punishing workout but he informs Dean that it’s to be his new morning training routine. 

The boy is sweating and panting when John hands him a bottle of water and orders him to the showers. “Cold water, Dean. You haven’t earned hot water yet and I expect you to be standing at attention in front of the kitchen table in no more twelve minutes.”

It takes Dean eleven minutes to rush into position, his hair still dripping and his boots unlaced. 

“Take off your shirt,” John orders and curses himself silently for forgetting to take off Dean’s bandage before sending him to the shower. He peels off the wet bandage and looks at the symbol branded on Dean’s back. The skin is red and puffy but there doesn’t seem to be any sign of infection. It’s not getting worse and if it’s healing, it’s doing so slowly. 

John cleans the wound, ignoring the hisses that escape Dean’s lips, and applies a new bandage. He tells his son to put on his shirt and then sets him on cooking breakfast. They don’t have much on the cupboards since John didn’t think they would be staying more than two days in this town but Dean manages to scramble up some cheese sandwiches. 

John makes the boy stand at attention while John eats and then allows him to eat his own breakfast standing at the counter. When the dishes are done he sets Dean out to the Impala to get the guns and clean them all. 

“Until I allow you to, you don’t lean on a backrest. You sit up straight, at attention, both feet on the floor.”

It’s part to enforce Dean’s new status and part to make sure he doesn’t put any pressure on his upper back. The boy will be aching by the time he’s done with the guns but that’s good. Tasks, orders, denials, discomfort, pain, punishment and the hunt, those are the things Dean needs to stabilize, for his mark to heal and to settle in some kind of new normal. Just like the army. You break the cadets and rebuild them. John will do it with his son. He did it when he decided to hunt and to take his boys with him and he will do it again. 

When the guns are done John puts Dean on knives and then sets him out on foot to the dinner to get them lunch. Driving is a privilege that Dean will have to earn again.

In a way Dean is better equipped to deal with being enthralled than others. He knows how to follow orders and he’s already dedicated to hunting,. He also has John to keep a firm hand on him and while some would think that living with another hunter while enthralled would be a hardship, John knows there’s a peace of mind that comes with structure and discipline. 

He makes Dean stand in attention again while John eats and then allows the boy to eat standing by the counter. John knows he could regulate the boy’s meals and choices but he has never thought fasting is a good way to enforce rules and a hungry hunter is a bad hunter. There are other ways to establish the power differential he has to impose on Dean and denying the boy his cheeseburgers isn’t one of them. 

Hard manual labor and training is more his style so after lunch he orders Dean to rotate the tires on the Impala. They were about due for maintenance and it’s hard physical work. The fact that the boy enjoys working on the car is beside the point and John uses the time to make a few calls while checking up on Dean through the motel window. 

John steals himself to the conversation he has to have.

“You on your way back?” Bobby asks in lieu of a greeting as soon as the call connects.

“No. We’re staying a couple more days. Bobby,” he doesn’t really know how to say it, “it’s Dean. He’s the tribute.”

One second. Two. “You selfish bastard! You let the boy take that pebble? I knew you were scum, Winchester, but to sell your boy into slavery?”

“It wasn’t my idea!” John’s angry now. “You think I put him up to it, that I would let him? The boy took it and swallowed it before I could do anything!” He’s angry at Dean for being impulsive and reckless and an idiot and angry at himself for not doing his job and protecting his son. 

“He wouldn’t have been in that position if it wasn’t for you!”

Bobby wouldn’t say ‘I told you so’ but he will make damn sure John knows it’s his fault. His decision, his idea, his stubbornness and pride that led to this. “I know.” All the anger has left his voice to be replaced by self loathing and resignation. 

Bobby warned him not to get entangled with the ritual and the god. He said it isn’t worth it and many hunters, Bobby included, can do the job just fine without resorting to pledges and blood oaths. John thought Bobby was too cautious and maybe retired for too long to understand the benefits of the ritual. Now he sees the paranoid old hunter had a point.

“Sam can’t find out,” John says, instead of explaining himself.

“It’s a little late to be worried what your son thinks of you.”

“It was Dean’s rule. Sam won’t find out, any of it, not about Ninurta or about Dean. Thought I would warn you.”

“Balls!” John hears the clink of metal and can just imagine the other hunter taking a sip from his flask. “That idjit should’ve at least asked for some protection.”

John snorts. “He willed his gifts to Sam too.”

“Fucking idjit,” Bobby grumbles but it’s impossible not to hear the affection in his voice. “I’ll keep Sam and keep mum about the whole thing but after you pick him up if you ever show your ugly mug in my house again you’ll be welcomed by my shotgun. I mean it, Winchester.”

“Understood,” John says coldly. 

“Tell your boy _he’s_ welcome here anytime, as long as he doesn’t drag you along.” And with that, Bobby hangs up. 

So that’s another friendship down the drain. In the last few years John has been making more enemies than allies. He doesn’t mind much; he figures he’s better off hunting alone or with his boys and with how things are with Dean now, the less people in the life they run into, the better, at least after he’s done adjusting Dean to his new life. 

He dials another number. 

It rings only twice before someone picks up. “Yeah?” 

“It’s John Winchester. I need help with Dean, if you’re willing.”

“You read the book?” Lawson asks. John makes an affirmative sound. “You willing to do what has to be done?”

“Yes.”

After John explains what he’s done so far and what he needs help with Lawson invites him to come to his ranch to continue Dean’s training. Exposure to other hunters bound to the god is necessary and Lawson knows about the sacrifice, has seen many other thralls through the first few days.

“We’ll be there in a couple of hours,” John promises and hangs up. Time for the next part of the training.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a multipart (not too long, probably around ~~3~~ 4 parts). Next chapter will probably be Dean’s POV, so we get to know what’s going on in his head through all of this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is Dean's POV so is less Jhon friendly. Please mind the tags. 
> 
> Unbetaed. Please let me know if you find any of the mistakes I'm sure I missed.

Dean is too exhausted to think. 

He has been too exhausted since the moment his dad drew the damn pebble but he’ll take exhaustion over thinking right now. He doesn’t want to think because if he does, if he allows himself even a moment to contemplate what’s happening, what he got himself into, he’s afraid he might break. 

So exhaustion it is. 

He focuses on the burn of his arms as he changes the tires and on the ache of his lower back and calfs from squatting after the harsh workout of the morning. He thinks about how he would really enjoy a cold coke right about now and concentrates on keeping his eyes open. 

After he’s done with the car, his dad sets him on packing everything. They are checking out but Dad doesn’t bother telling Dean where they’re going. Hell, if he didn’t tell things to Dean before he sure as hell won’t now.

Dean bites his lip and stops that train of though before it can lead him to unwanted places. He packs mechanically, something he has done so many times that checking under beds and in drawers for forgotten items is second nature. 

He puts the bags on the trunk of the Impala and waits for his dad to finish settling their bill in the main office. He stands by the car, not quite at attention but straight, eyes fixed on the office door and waits. 

When his Dad returns he barely looks at his son before ordering, “In the back, Dean, back straight, eyes ahead.”

“Yes, sir.”

The answer is as mechanical, as ingrained in his behavior as putting salt lines on the doors. Dean says “Yes, sir” first and then thinks about what he has been ordered to do. He agrees. He obeys because when he doesn’t bad things happen, like Sam getting hurt. Dean learned his lesson with the shtriga and answering “Yes, sir” is a whole lot easier that carrying the guilt of failing and getting people hurt. 

He sits behind the passenger seat, back straight not touching the backrest, and trains his eyes on the road. Dad uses the backseat as punishment and even though Dean likes the front seat, likes to feel like he’s important, like he has a role to play the backseat is where Sam is so Dean doesn’t really mind. 

Except that Sam isn’t with them now. 

Dean is no stranger to punishment. Even though he tries to always agree with his dad, always comply, he can’t help but fail time and again… so punishment. Punishment duty means extra training, harsh words and constant remainders of his failures. Which is still better than being sent away, another of his father’s preferred punishments. 

The training and drill sergeant routine he can handle. As long as his dad doesn’t send him away it’s okay. And if what he gets for swallowing the stupid pebble is never ending punishment duty, then that’s still better than being sent away or risking dad or _Sam_. He _can’t_ risk Sam. 

So Dean looks at the road, takes comfort on the sound of the engine, on the motion of the car and refuses to think of where they’re going. 

The muscles on his back ache from the stiff position but the burn on his back hasn’t stopped hurting and he doesn’t want to think how much worse it would be if he leaned on it. 

They drive for about twenty minutes until they reach a dirt road that leads them to a small farm. Dad is parking in front of a tool shed when the owner comes out of the ranch style house. Lawson. 

Dean hasn’t had much contact with the older hunter that somehow got saddled with the role of priest or earth’s representative or whatever for Ninurta. Everyone knows him as the one who leads the sorting and who actually preforms the rituals to make new thralls, which means other hunters are mostly wary of him. Dean doesn’t really know what he thinks. Yeah, the older hunter was the one to brand him but it wasn’t like Dean gave him a choice, so he’s kind of thankful that Lawson was clearheaded enough to stop his dad from doing something stupid. 

Still, being in Lawson’s farm can only mean that Dean is here for training, or maybe some other thrall related thing. He swallows a shudder and steels himself. It’s fine. He rather know and get whatever is going to happen out of the way now. Dad said it, he’s still in the middle of hell week, so he’ll deal. 

They both get out of the car and dad orders him to get their duffels inside. Dean does so quietly and stands in he living room’s threshold for about five minutes before they realize they haven’t told him what to do with the bags. 

Dad takes his own and tells Dean to drop his duffle by the door and follow him out. Behind the house there’s a small stable that houses one horse and one mule. Dad orders him to muck the stalls and come back to the house when he’s done. 

Dean’s very familiar with chores. He has been cleaning after his family, cooking and doing the laundry since he was about five (though his version of cooking didn’t include the stove until he was around seven). He has weeded the church gardens for Pastor Jim and mopped the floors. He has changed oils, painted and sorted vehicle parts for Bobby. He cleans and maintains guns regularly, sharpens knives, makes fake IDs and knows the best tricks to get blood out of almost everything. 

He _doesn’t_ do farm chores. 

He doesn’t think he’s ever even been that close to a horse before and the way the brown beast is looking at him doesn’t exactly fill him with confidence. He has, however, watched a ton of westerns so he finds a shovel and approaches the stall that houses the mule with trepidation. 

Thankfully there’s a lead hanging from the mule’s neck. Dean takes it carefully and slowly starts to move the animal out of the stall. He’s surprised when the mule follows him without complain (TV has led him to believe those animals are stubborn) and ties the lead to a support column in the hall. 

Dean goes into the stall and looks. There’s straw, there’s poop and he has a shovel. He figures out quickly enough that he’s supposed to put the shit in the large bucket labeled “compost” outside and gets to work. It’s tiring, disgusting and it stinks but it keeps his mind occupied. 

He’s dug enough graves to be familiar with a shovel and he has definitely smelt worse things.

_Like his own burning flesh just a few days ago._

He firmly pushes that thought out of his mind and focusses on the work. He’s sweaty and his muscles ache by the time he finishes the first stall and leads the mule back inside. 

Twilight has fallen so he takes a moment to find and turn on the lights before approaching the horse. The horse doesn’t give him any trouble either and Dean starts working. 

He’s mouth is dry and he wonders if he should have asked his dad for some water before. The thing is that Dean’s not really sure how he’s supposed to act. Dad said he can have food and drink freely but when he has been punished before his dad doesn’t usually let Dean stop training for silly things like hydration. 

It’s not like he’s about to collapse or anything. He’s just thirsty. He can deal with that. 

It’s completely dark by the time he finishes and makes his way back towards the house. He’s aware of his muddy boots and how dirty his clothes are so he just knocks on the door and waits outside on the porch. His dad gives him a once over when he opens the door and sighs. 

“Use the faucet in the back to clean your boots. Strip to your boxers out here so you don’t track mud inside and shower. Lawson has a washer and dryer you can use later tonight to do our laundry.”

Dean nods and goes to find the faucet. He uses his hands and the water to clean the boots as best as he can and leaves them to dry by the wall. He can put on his sneakers after the shower. 

He bundles his dirty clothes and leaves them outside too. He’ll have to go to the Impala to get their laundry bag later tonight anyway. He grabs his duffle when steps into the house and his dad points him to the bathroom door. 

“Cold water, Dean,” dad reminds him from where he’s sitting with Lawson at the kitchen table. “Take off the bandage before the shower. You have ten minutes and leave the shirt off. We’ll check and bandage your back when you get out.”

Dean hates cold water. _Hates it_. His dad knows it and uses that punishment regularly. Dad can hear the heater turning on and checks the bathroom for steam as well so Dean learned early on that trying to fool him just results in more punishment. Easier to take a quick shower and be done with it. 

The cold water does feel good on his back and even though Dean longs for the relief of warm water on his tired muscles, he’s kind of afraid of what that’ll do to the burn on his back. 

He drinks some water straight from the shower and finishes quickly, puts on a fresh pair of underwear, jeans and socks and walks out shirtless to stand at attention in front of his father, with his duffle clenched in his hands. 

“It’s healing,” dad says after looking at Dean’s back for a moment. 

“Yeah,” Lawson agrees. “Tomorrow we can stop covering it. It’ll heal better without the bandage.”

“Finish dressing, Dean,” his dad says after he puts a new bandage on Dean’s back. “Lawson put out some pasta for you to cook for us. Get to it.”

Dean finds everything easily in the kitchen counter. While he waits for the water to boil he lets his eyes close for a moment. He’s so tired. He wishes he could sit for a a few minutes. He’s been standing or working all day except for the car ride here but Dean knows won’t get to rest any time soon. It’s hell week after all. 

Marines exercise for twenty hours a day or more during hell week. Dean knows that because his dad tells them every time he or Sam complain about training. It’s mostly Sam complaining since Dean just does as his father says silently unless dad’s pushing Sam too hard, which usually results on Sam bitching, Dad yelling and Dean on punishment duty. 

Still, Dean’s never done a twenty hour training stretch, unless he counts the four days it took him to hike back to their campsite the first time dad left him out in the woods with just a pocket knife and instructions to make his own way back. Dean doesn’t. He was nine then and it was his own fault it took him that long to get back. He’s smarter now and it usually only takes him a day or two to complete the exercise.

He drops the pasta on the pot when the water boils and gets out another pot to heat up the tomato sauce. He stirs mechanically and ignores his stomach growling.

He hopes the whole ‘standing at attention while his dad eats’ thing stops after hell week. He doesn’t know how he would ever explain that to Sam. It’s not a punishment his dad has ever used and actually, most of the time Dean and Sam eat alone so it’s not like his dad’s there to demand Dean waits. 

Dean tightens his grip on the wooden spoon he’s using to stir the sauce and forces himself to focus on cooking and nothing more. The future… well he can’t deal with that shit now. Pasta? Pasta he can do. 

As predicted, his dad says to set the table for two and Dean stands at attention, looking straight at the kitchen cabinets, while his Dad and Lawson eat and talk about the best way to deal with ghouls. 

Dean listens even though they aren’t saying anything Dean doesn’t know already and ignores the smells of warm food. It’s about twenty five minutes before they finish and Dean’s allowed to eat standing at the counter. The pasta’s cold but Dean’s too hungry to care and he eats quickly and has a glass of tap water with it. He washes the dishes when he finishes and then his father sends him out for the laundry. 

Lawson shows him where the washing machine is and points to a pile of clothes Dean is to do for him as well. Dean figures out it’ll only take two loads to finish everting. He puts on the first one as his dad walks into the laundry room. 

“You know the drill,” dad says and drops a toothbrush on the ground in front of Dean. “Just the floor on this room for now while you do the laundry.”

His dad doesn’t wait for a reply before he exits the laundry room. Dean glares at the toothbrush for a few seconds before he resigns himself and gets a small bowl with soap and water. 

This, he’s used to. Besides training this is one if his father’s favorite punishments. At least it isn’t a motel bathroom, which are so nasty that Dean feels like scrubbing his hands with alcohol when his done with the floors. Dad probably figured it would keep Dean busy while the laundry cycle is done and it fits right in with the whole keeping Dean from resting thing.

It doesn’t take long for his knees to start hurting. He still has bruises for kneeling all night on the forest and there are red circles on his wrists from the handcuffs as well. That night is mostly a haze. The pain from his back and knees and muscles was muddled by dizziness, a fever and the weird dreams he had. 

He knows they were more like visions (he doesn’t think he actually slept that night at all). It was like Lawson said, he was communing with Ninurta, learning what the hunter god expects from him, what services he’s to preform. It’s hazy and half remembered but somehow he knows that when the time comes he’ll know exactly what to do. 

At least as far as the hunt is concerned. How he’s supposed to act with other hunters? That he doesn’t really know. That’s probably why they’re staying with Lawson. As much as today sucked it’s mostly been like dealing with his dad at his angriest, like how it was a couple of months ago after he came back from Sonny’s. Familiar.

Permanent punishment duty.

Dean knows his dad. He can deal with Jhon Winchester, even at his worst. Other hunters… 

No. He’s not thinking about that now. 

He focuses on the floor and the laundry and forces himself to think of only folding and scrubbing until he’s done with both tasks. He leaves Lawson’s clothes folded on the table and walks back into the living room with his and his dad’s clean laundry and the damn toothbrush. 

After all the clothes are packed in duffle bags dad orders him to just stand at attention, his back to the living room where the two hunters are watching a game. 

Dean would rather do another punishment workout than just stand there. For two months after the shtriga dad had him stand for an hour every night by Sam’s bed as a reminder to watch over his brother. Every time Dean has to stand at attention for more than a few minutes he’s reminded of that punishment and what he did to deserve it, how close it was, how Sammy could have… 

No.

Dean’s not thinking about that. He starts reciting Metallica’s albums in his mind chronologically and every song in those albums in order to distract himself, and when he’s done with that he does Zeppelin, and then Credence. 

He’s in the middle of _Cosmo Factory_ when the game ends and his father and Lawson walk out the front door. It’s just a few minutes before they come back and Dean immediately notices the heavy chain his father is carrying. 

Dean stays at attention but from the corner of his eye he sees his father loop the chain around a column in the middle of the room and secure with a padlock. 

“Go to the bathroom and get ready for bed, Dean, then come here.” 

Dean does as ordered, taking the time to wash his hands and face in the bathroom and brush his teeth before exiting. When he reaches the column his dad takes his left hand and locks a handcuff around it, the other cuff is attached to the chain which gives Dean about five feet of room to move but he’s tethered to the column. 

“You sleep here tonight. Use your duffle as a pillow if you want,” his dad says and then hands him a book. “Read that. I’ll turn the lights off in about two hours. Make sure you finish before that and don’t pick the cuffs.”

Dad and Lawson leave the room and Dean stands for a few moments before sitting down slowly on the floor. He’s so tired that the simple act of sitting down, even if it’s in the hard wooden floor, feels like heaven. 

He doesn’t think he’ll manage to keep himself awake reading whatever obscure hunter journal his father just assigned him but he knows better than to disobey. He opens the first page and starts. 

Two hours later when the lights go off Dean is fully awake, the thrall’s journal still in his hands and the heavy weight of his decision and it’s consequences settles firmly on his chest.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There's non consensual corporal punishment of a minor in this chapter. Also, John Winchester thinking he's doing good, or at least what he has to.

John wakes the boy up at five in the morning. The sun hasn’t risen yet and he takes a kerosine lamp out with them to the field in front of the house to supervise Dean’s morning training. John starts him up with laps around the field, since it’s too dark to send the boy out for a simple run, and follows it up with sets of a hundred calisthenics. He plans to add weights in the future. Dean is lanky and tall, and he’s about the right age to start building muscle mass, but for now John focusses on the basics. 

It’s still dark when John allows Dean to stop and hands him a bottle of water. He lets the boy drink for a few seconds before he gives him his next instructions. “You have until dawn to bring me back a rabbit.” John hands Dean a hunting knife and a small flashlight. “Be back at the house no latter then seven minutes after daybreak.”

Dean just gapes at him. It’s an impossible task and they both know it. It’s less than forty minutes until sunrise and hunting a rabbit, in the dark, in an unknown terrain, not even actually knowing if there are any burrows around its a herculean tasks. 

After a moment of silent challenge Dean says “yes, sir,” an hurries out into the woodland area at the edge of the field. 

John goes back into the house and takes his time on the shower. He discussed the task with Lawson last night. So far he had been focussed on establishing the power differential between him and Dean. The boy was learning what was expected of him, following tasks and orders and complying quickly. 

Obedience. That’s part one and John knew Dean wouldn’t have any trouble with it. 

Part two is punishment. 

In the future Dean will be faced with tasks he can’t or won’t complete and the nature of his binding to the hunter god makes that a dangerous action. John has stablished the limits. Now he needs to deal with what happens when those limits are broken. 

By the time he gets dressed the first rays of light are illuminating the cabin. John steps out in to the porch and settles on a bench to wait for Dean. 

He doesn’t have to wait for long. The boy jogs towards the house moments later and John can see there’s something furry and dead held in Dean’s hand. 

It’s not a rabbit. 

John gives Dean a hard stare. “Did I ask you to get me a squirrel?”

“No, sir.” Dean is panting slightly. “I couldn’t find a rabbit.”

It’s outstanding that the boy got anything at all given the limitations of the exercise, but he still failed. “Go find a shovel and burry that thing in the field. We don’t need a rotting corpse,” John orders. “Then stand at attention and wait for me.”

He watches Dean go and just stands there in the porch for a few minutes. 

“You want me to do it?” Lawson asks and hands him a cup of coffee. John hadn’t even heard him come out. 

“It’s my responsibility.”

“He’s still your boy,” Lawson replies. “You ever spanked him before?”

“No.” Not Dean and not Sam, though heaven knows Sammy seems to be getting all the teenage rebellion Dean hadn’t. John Winchester might be a harass but he has never raised a hand to his boys outside of sparing. That’s about to change. 

“Needs to be done,” Lawson adds. 

John knows. If he wants the brand to heal, if he wants Dean to adapt, this needs to be done, and he won’t shift the responsibility to Lawson. “The crop, I think.”

Lawson lets out a low whistle. “Harsh.”

“Dean can take it,” John replies. It’s also the instrument that will give him most control. He won’t use his hand and he won’t spank a sixteen year old. Even if it would be a physically lighter punishment, the humiliation alone would do worse damage.

“There’s one in the shed. Wooden cabinet.” Lawson walks back inside without another word. 

John finishes his coffee, leaves the cup on the porch and goes to the shed. He finds the crop easily enough and then walks to the field. Dean is waiting for him. He’s covered in sweat and dirt but he’s standing at attention beside the freshly filled hole in the ground. 

Dean’s eyes widen when he sees what John’s holding in his hand but he doesn’t break position. 

“Shirt off, arms extended at your sides,” John orders curtly.

Dean blinks. The boy’s eyes are fixed on the instrument in John’s hand. It’s a long moment before Dean straightens his back and pulls his t-shift off. He extends his arms and waits. There are goosebumps on the boy’s shoulders. 

“You fail a task or disobey an order and you get punished,” John says and lands a hit over Dean’s left kidney.

The boy shudders and swallows a cry. There’s a red and angry mark forming on Dean’s back but the skin isn’t broken and the area affected is small. Good. 

John is careful to stay clear of the bandage covering Dean’s brand but he delivers a through beating to Dean’s back, shoulders and upper arms. By the time he finishes Dean is trembling and grunting in pain. 

John walks around the boy. There are tears on the corners of Dean’s eyes but his mouth is pressed in a determined line and he stares back at John, eyes steady.

There are no words to soften the blows. This is how things are now and they both need to get used to the new reality. So John doesn’t apologize or tell his son that he did good, that he needs to be strong because this won’t be the last beating. 

Pretty words don’t do shit so he just sends Dean to put the shovel away and shower without any other acknowledgement of what just happened than a simple curt nod. John brings the crop back with him to the house and places on the dresser in the room he’s using. 

“Dean seemed okay,” Lawson says when John walks into the kitchen and sits at the table. 

John snorts. The boy isn’t okay, none of them are but there’s no use in complaining or talking about it. Five minutes later Dean is standing at attention before them without his shirt. 

This is the true test.

John makes Dean turn around and examines his son’s back. The boy had taken the bandage off before showering, as instructed, and John can see that even though the brand is still red, the puffiness of the skin seems to have gone down significantly. He ignores the new marks on Dean’s skin and chooses to focus on the clear sign that the punishment worked. 

Lawson nods in satisfaction. “It’s healing nicely. Don’t think he needs the bandages anymore.”

“Finish dressing, Dean, and get us some breakfast.”

The meal goes by like the other ones. He talks with Lawson about inconsequential things while Dean stands, and then they both retire to the leaving room so the boy can eat and clean up. 

They already decided that if the brand continued to heal well it’s time to move to the next stage, and that’s to get other hunters involved. 

So far John has been the only one commanding Dean but in the future he will be susceptible to orders from anyone bound to Ninurta and the sooner they get the boy used to that, the better. 

They start slow. Lawson orders Dean to polish the cabin wooden floors by hand and then has him clean all his guns and knives. He supervises Dean closely and points out any mistakes, sometimes he reinforces the criticism with a slap to the back of Dean’s head. 

John stays in the room but doesn’t speak a word or interfere. For all intents and purposes he ignores what’s going on with his son and the other hunter. It takes Dean around three hours to complete the tasks and after that Lawson orders him out to do some yard work. 

John uses the time to read the papers and scout for other hunts. He can’t take anything in the next couple of days but it won’t be longer than a week before he can settle the boys somewhere and get back to work. 

The trail of the demon has run cold but he can’t know which hunt will give him a new clue so he has to keep looking, no matter what. If there’s a good thing to come out of this shitstorm Dean got them into is that at least Sammy will be better protected. With Dean’s gifts bestowed on him, Sam will be more resilient, stronger, faster and that’s invaluable in a hunt. 

Sam will be in less danger. No matter what, John can focus on that. He thinks about calling his youngest. They hadn’t spoken in more than a week and Sam always complains about being left without any contact. Usually Dean is the one who makes sure to keep Sam informed and John only calls when there’s an emergency. 

He dismisses the idea. Sam’s fine with Bobby, they’ll go pick him up soon and then Dean can deal with all the questions and complains. John doesn’t really have the patience. 

There’s nothing noteworthy on the papers. It’s alright. Lawson already has a hunt for them to work on and when Lawson comes back he makes a few calls to a couple of hunter friends to get on with Dean’s training. 

By the look of the boy when he comes back into the house he needs another shower. John gives him seven minutes to get it done before they get ready to head out. 

Dean is two minutes late and John nods at Lawson to give the boy the correction. The older hunter slaps Dean twice and John sees the boy hold himself back from blocking the blows. Dean’s fists are closed tightly and his whole body seems to vibrate but he doesn’t move against Lawson or says anything. 

They pile into Lawson’s truck, Dean sitting ramrod straight in the back, and drive into town. John has never been in Peterson’s shop but he has heard good things about it. Up front it’s just a hardware store but on the back, those in the know, can acquire guns, amo, knives, machetes and even silver bullets and other assortment of weapons. 

Lawson needs to order some special ammunition rounds and John wants to browse. One can never have too many weapons and John is of the mind that it’s better to be overprepared. 

Dean follows them into the shop quietly. Lawson nods at the girl on the counter who simply opens a door for them to step through into the back room. 

“Lawson, you made it!” The plump man sitting behind a desk filled with handguns stands up and comes over to shake Lawson’s hand. “Heya, John.”

“Nice place you got here.” John clasps the man’s hand and nods at the knives and guns on the counters. 

“You looking for anything specific?”

“Just browsing,” John answers. Lawson called Peterson before and they had all planed what needs to happen, so John pretends to be absorbed inspecting a gun and lets things play out. 

“You the new thrall, boy?” The friendly tone in Peterson’s voice isn’t quite gone but it’s definitely colder. John doesn’t hear an answer so Dean probably just nodded. “Place needs sweeping, get to it. Might as well do something useful while you’re here.”

John raises his eyes slightly. Peterson is holding a broom towards Dean, expectingly but the boy just stands there. 

“Just in case you’re too dumb to get it, boy, that was an order.” 

John can’t really see Dean’s face from where he’s standing but he recognizes the posture, the slight tilt of the neck that has gotten his son in detention more than once. 

“Yeah, I would do the cinderella thing for you but I don’t look good on a dress.” Dean’s muscles tighten and he hisses. John hears a muttered curse but the boy still doesn’t move to take the broom. 

They all wait. A second, two. “Son of a bitch!” Dean winces and just stands there for another ten seconds before he gives up. “Okay, fine! I’ll play Cinderella.” He lets out a long breath, as if relieved, and then adds, “but no dress.”

Peterson moves quickly. He swings the broom handle and delivers three quick hits to Dean's stomach. Then he drops the broom on the floor in front of the boy. “Get to it.”

Dean’s still getting his breath but he still says, quietly but loud enough to be heard, “Not into BDSM either.” He picks up the broom anyway and gets to work without another word. 

The book said how difficult, nearly impossible, it is to resist a direct order. There’s pain but apparently also a type of desperation attached to ignoring a task directly given. The writer didn’t spend too long describing the sensation but it was clear that it’s unpleasant. 

They will have to work on that, build up Dean’s resistance but for now the lesson has been delivered. It's possible to defy orders but it carries a cost. Dean will have to pick his battles.

John ends up buying a new shotgun and a ceramic knife and they promise Peterson to be back later in the evening to have a few beers. There’s still a couple of hunters in the area after the ceremony and they can make an evening out of exchanging stories. 

They wait for Dean to finish sweeping and then head out to lunch. There’s a diner just a few miles down the road that Lawson has been singing praises about. John gives Dean directions and orders him to jog there while they take the truck. 

“You gonna let the boy eat with us?” Lawson is looking at the rearview mirror. Dean is still visible jogging on the road behind them but they’ll lose him soon. 

“It’ll be about forty minutes for him to get there if he keeps pace. We’ll be done by then.”

The diner is as good as advertised. It’s the best chili John’s had in a while. They’re just settling the check when Dean walks in. John gestures for him to go back outside and five minutes later they exit the diner. Dean is standing by the truck, panting slightly and sweating under the midday sun. 

“Here.” John hands him the take-away bag with the cheeseburger he ordered and a bottle of water. “I asume you noticed the library on your way here?”

Dean nods, still breathing hard. 

John gets from the inside pocket of his jacket the envelope with the information on the hunt he and Lawson put together and hands it to Dean. “Research. We’ll pick you up in front of the library at five.”

The boy takes the envelope and opens his mouth. John gives him an impatient look and Dean substitutes whatever question he was about to ask with a resigned “yes, sir.”

“Good. Remember your orders,” John instructs and climbs into the truck. He leans back on the seat and closes his eyes while Lawson drives them back to cabin. It’s not until they’re back that John notices he also gave Dean the bag with the extra piece of pie he’d bought for himself.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m a sucker for slave Dean fics. Mostly looking for non sexual slavery or fics that are dark and angsty instead of funtimes BDSM. If you have any recs, please send them my way :) Pretty please?


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